(Note from the author: These are not my characters, my world, or my
situations. They all belong to J. K. Rowling, and are protected by
copyrights.)
(Note from the author: Here's chapter 100! I never thought I'd make it, but I have . . . and I have to thank everyone who's read this far, and who's sent great comments and feedback and hasn't totally abandoned the story after the prologue. Lol. It's the chapter you've all been waiting for . . . Enjoy . . .)
It was late that night as the Ministry car pulled up to the Potter's residence. The lights were on, and James sighed from his seat in the front next to Sirius.
"Well, here we go," he said, opening his door, and hoisting himself out of the car. It had been a good drive back, filled with song and butterbeers all around. He hadn't had so much fun since graduating. He was still laughing as he made his way up the steps, and Sirius shook his head from the driver's seat.
"He's in for it," he commented, and Peter and Remus solemnly nodded in agreement.
James, mussing his hair, opened the door, and sighed, "Here goes nothing," he muttered, and he stepped quietly into the front hall.
"Lily?" he asked quietly, but no answer came.
Maybe she was asleep.
Maybe she had gone looking for him.
Was she worried about him? Had she stayed up all night and day waiting for him to come home? What if she had gone to the Order, and they were all looking for him and the others?
What if something had happened to her?
He would never be able to forgive himself . . .
"Lily?" he said, a little more frantic, walking into the parlor.
"James?"
It was a gruff voice. Nothing like Lily's sweet, soft one. James turned to face the stranger who was exiting his kitchen. An intruder!
His robes flew open as he brandished his wand and pointed it at the figure in the doorway, "Who are you? What do you want? Where's Lily?"
"Put that thing away," the figure drew closer and into the light of the candles on the hearth. The jagged face of Frank Longbottom could be seen, and James glared.
"What do you want?" he spat.
Frank sighed, and shook his head, "You know, James, before Alice had her child, I was at her side every minute."
"Bully for you," James hissed, "Now where is Lily? What happened?"
"They took her to St. Mungo's a few hours ago," Frank said, "But I guess that you were too busy joyriding with your chums, as usual, to know that, now weren't you."
"Why did they take her there?" James asked, feeling his heart drop to his stomach, "What happened? What's wrong?"
Frank's jagged and handsome face curved into a smile, and he said, "Congratulations. You're going to be a father."
"So how did your meeting with James go?" Sirius asked, thumping his fingers against the wheel of the car. They were waiting to make sure all was well before leaving their boy alone with Morgana.
Remus looked at Sirius through the review-mirror, and shrugged, "It could have gone better."
"You two still at ends, then?" Peter asked.
Sirius groaned, and covered his eyes with his hands. Remus's face grew calm and cool as he tried not to show his emotions to the other two. They could read him like a book. He looked away from Sirius and to the house. The front door was still open, and it had been a while since James had disappeared from sight. Something was wrong. He could feel it.
"You know what?" Peter said, "I think that James is one lucky man."
Remus looked from Sirius, and then to Peter, "How so?"
"Well," Peter said, shifting in his seat, "He has a wife that was worried about him, friends that love him enough to take him out for his birthday, and . . . well, he is in favor of the Ministry, that's for sure. James has always had it lucky, don't you think?"
"Something's wrong," Sirius muttered, "He hasn't shut the door. He always shuts the door."
"What?" Remus asked.
"The lights upstairs aren't on. The lights in the parlor aren't on," Sirius said, "And he still hasn't shut the front door. Something's going on."
"You don't think that Lily's just a little peeved?" Remus said, "Let's not jump to a conclusion . . ."
Sirius opened his driver's door and jumped out of the car without another word. Remus sighed and shook his head.
"Never mind," he said.
The hot smells of summer drifted into the car as the two remaining passengers waited for the two of them to return. Peter tapped his foot on the floor, and Remus ran his fingers through his strangled hair. There was a pause before Peter said, "Well, you think we should follow him then?"
"Probably. Knowing Sirius he'll blast the house to Scotland," Remus said, and the two boys opened both their doors to accompany the sprinting figure across the street.
The three of them entered the house in silence, and the street outside was mute as a light was illuminated from inside. A car passed, and a cat made its way down the suburban path paved out for a sidewalk. The sound of a fire engine could be heard off in the distance, and all was quiet from inside.
Until the guttural howl of Sirius Black echoed out of the still-open door, down the street, and through the town of England.
"Where is she?" James demanded, as they sped into the lobby of St. Mungo's. He was frantic, and the five men ran to the front desk. James slammed his fist on the counter top of the receptionist's desk and shouted again, "Where's my wife?"
"And what would your wife's name be?" the nurse asked in a calm manner.
"Lily Evans . . . I mean, Lily Potter. Her name's Lily Potter. I'm her husband," James said in a frantic tone, "Where is she? I want to see her?"
"She is in the maternity ward, Mr. Potter," the nurse said, even calmer, "Follow the signs, please."
"Come on," Frank said, taking James by the sleeve and tugging him away from the desk and to the bright lifts that stood on another wall, "They took Alice there yesterday. I know the way well enough."
They crowded into the lift, and James gave Frank a look, " It's a boy?"
Frank, his jagged face not changing but a small smile curling onto his face and breaking the handsome rockiness of his figure, said, "Yes, it's a boy. His name's Neville."
"Congrats," James said, fidgetting with his cloak. What if something went wrong? What if Lily was hurting and he wasn't there? God, he had been out goofing off at a Quidditch game when he should have been here. He should have driven Lily to the hospital! He should have . . .
"Who brought her here?" James asked as the lift whizzed higher, and Frank coughed, "I did."
"Well, thank you," he said. Remus, Peter and Sirius all looked at one another, and then shrugged.
The lift opened, and James rushed through the hallways, Frank at his heels. The other three tried to keep up, but they were no competition for the Quidditch player and the top Auror of Dumbledore's. They watched as James and Frank spun around a corner, and then slammed the doors open to an entrance reading "POTTER."
"Lily!" James shouted, looking around the room.
And he saw her.
She was as beautiful as ever.
It had been three hours. The clock ticked away in the waiting room outside the room. Frank had left a long time ago to go check up on his own bundle of joy down the corridor. Only the three Marauders remained, trying not to go crazy in their waiting.
Weren't they a scene now? All three of Dumbledore's soldiers, sitting around and trying to make themselves comfortable on the wooden chairs supplied by them by St. Mungo's. Sirius was humming a song to himself. Remus couldn't make out the lyrics very well, due to the drawling tone in his friend's voice. He knew it was something in French.
"What is that song?" Remus asked quietly, and Sirius snapped to attention.
"What? You forgot?" Sirius said, spinning around in his seat to look at him, "It's your music box song."
"That's what I thought," Remus said, "I just didn't think you'd remember it."
"You played it enough in the dormitory at nights," Sirius said, "Over and over again."
Remus's smile diminished, and his poker face returned. He looked away from Sirius, and Sirius sighed. He rolled his eyes, and groaned, "Come on, now, Remus. It wasn't like we were really asleep. I never slept at school."
"I wouldn't have played it if I knew that you were listening," Remus said softly.
"I kinda liked the tune," Peter said, looking up from a magazine, "It was catchy."
"Shut up," Sirius snorted, and then turned back to Remus, "Why?"
"If it bothered you . . ."
"Whoever said it bothered me?"
Remus shrugged, "Well, I just didn't think you'd remember it."
Sirius nodded, somewhat confused, and sighed again. There was another eerie silence that swept the room as the three boys grew quiet once again. Remus had had a dream the night before, while he dozed off waiting for Sirius to come fetch him for the great escape. He had been sitting in his chair, and hadn't intended on falling asleep. But he had, and the dreams had come again. Yet this one was without the wolf, and it was without mysterious teachers behind old wooden desks.
This one was of a boy. From what it looked like, the boy had been having a party. He was the spitting image of James when he was eleven, hazel eyes and all. He was happy, and healthy, and was blowing out his candles to his birthday cake. Ten golden candles stood like turrets across the icing, illuminating the chocolate frosting that spelled out the words "HAPPY BIRTHDAY, HARRY." Sirius was there. He was hoisting the boy into the air, laughing and threatening to throw him into the tree branches above. Peter was looking at the cake, wanting to not delay the food any longer.
James had his camera out, and he was hugging Lily.
And Remus . . . Remus was sitting on the back steps of the Potter's house, holding his present to this big boy that they had all helped raise. And the boy, after Sirius had put him down and he had eaten his first bite of cake, ran to him and hugged him.
"Happy birthday, Harry," Remus said, smiling, and returning the hug. The embrace wasn't filled with fear or pity. It was a genuine hug.
This boy didn't care if he was a werewolf or not.
But that boy was only a dream, he told himself, And dreams aren't real.
"Have either one of you talked to James about the . . ." Peter cleared his throat, "Well, about his son's . . ."
"No," Sirius said, "You don't bring the prophecy up with James. Ever."
Peter nodded, and opened his mouth, as if he was going to add something to the conversation. He closed it again, and then opened it once more for good measure, "Do you believe in the prophecy?"
Remus, all of a sudden, looked very tired, and rubbed his eyes, "How can't you?"
God, Sirius couldn't do this any longer! He wanted to just barge in there and give Lily a good talking to about timing. He wasn't baptised yet. They weren't ready. They had put it off.
Why had they?
Because they didn't want it to come in July, Sirius thought to himself, They wanted it to come later. Just to spite the prophecy. Then it'd be Longbottom's kid. And the world would leave Harry alone.
Harry. That was his name.
James said he looked just like him. He wondered if this was true.
How would Harry take to him? Would they be like brothers, always there for each other, or more like father and son if James couldn't be there. But of course, James would always be there. He would love Harry with every bit of his heart. And so would Lily.
No, he would be Uncle Sirius. The man who Harry would run to if his parents fought, or if James didn't agree with him, or if Lily's eye twitched. Uncle Sirius would spoil him to death, and never let anything bad touch him. He wouldn't ever punish him. He wouldn't tell him what to do.
The boy would be smart enough to do that for himself. Uncle Sirius would give him what he wanted, and more. But never less. He would always be there.
He would protect him.
No matter what.
DONG. DONG. DONG.
Sirius blinked, and looked at the clock. It was striking midnight. Three strikes.
"IT'S HERE!" Lily's screaming voice vibrated through the door and into the waiting room, "IT'S HERE!"
DONG.
He could hear the screaming of the baby now, and Lily's crying.
DONG. DONG.
"It's a boy!"
DONG. DONG.
Another scream.
DONG. DONG.
Remus stood as the door flew open.
DONG. DONG.
James stood, beaming in the entrance of the hospital room, beaming as brightly as ever. Even brighter. He looked happier than at his wedding reception, or even when he was playing Quidditch. A radiant of light illuminated the room as he looked to Sirius, tears welling up in his eyes.
"He's here."
In a scooting of chairs and a sound of tennis shoes on the squeaking linoleum floor, the three boys charged forward to James, and followed him excitedly into the room. And that's when the world changed for Sirius.
There lay Lily, red hair in every direction and her brow furrowed with sweat, sitting in a white smock in her bed, looking as beautiful as ever. But that didn't matter to Sirius. That isn't what he thought was beautiful.
In her arms lay the bundle that had become such an importance to all of their lives. A child that would possibly change the world. He was so delicate, and so . . . so small. He looked as if he were made of porcelain and the slightest change of wind could knock him over and break him.
He was beautiful.
Little tufts of black hair could be seen on his head, and his skin was pink and healthy. He whined, trying to blink his eyes for the first time. He had never seen sunlight before, and all of these new faces and things must be scaring him to death. His tiny hands clasped Lily's smock, and one single tear ran down his little cheek.
Sirius couldn't take his eyes off of that sight. This was his godson. This was Harry. This was James's child.
"Sirius, do you know what a godfather is?"
He could hear the voice of James in his head, from that day so long ago in Frank's office. Was it only a few months ago? It seemed like an eternity away.
"We were sort of hoping that you would be my child's godfather."
"Harry," Lily whispered, lowering her head to whisper in her son's ear, even if he couldn't understand her, "I'd like you to meet your uncles."
Remus and Peter beamed proudly at the tiny thing that she held. Remus's worries drifted away, and a bright smile overtook his poker face. Peter had another sort of expression on his face. One of pure joy, and yet one that seemed like . . . fear.
But Sirius. Oh, Sirius didn't move. His eyes couldn't stop looking at Harry. He was perfect. He was perfect in every way.
"That's Remus," Lily said in a cracked voice that was strained by the long hours of labor, "And that's Peter. And this, Harry," she looked at Sirius and her face lit up with trust, "This is your godfather, Harry. Sirius Black."
Sirius heard his name, and blinked again. No laughs were threatening to escape from his mouth. No tears were gleaming down his face. No smile was seen. Only the innocent expression of a man looking upon something greater than himself. The expression of a man seeing responsibility for the first time.
James took Harry from Lily, and more tears came. James didn't care anymore about what anyone thought.
This was his son. This was the child that he would carry through life. They were together, bonded forever. This was Harry.
"Hello, Harry," he whispered, rocking the tiny bundle in his arms, "I'm your daddy."
He was a daddy.
Sirius watched as he saw father and son embrace, and the gentle way that James held his baby. He had never seen his friend, in all of the years that they had known each other, be so careful and so cautious about anything. The little life was fragile, and the slightest movement could end it.
How could something so small and delicate be the great power that would save England? That would save the world? Grown men had died for the war, and this little boy was supposed to survive?
He was supposed to finish Voldemort off. Or the other way around. They had all heard the prophecy hundreds of times.
"Here, do you want to hold him?" James asked Sirius who was now standing closest to him. Sirius nodded, and took the small warm body from James's arms.
"Support the head," Lily interjected, "And don't touch the top of his scalp."
"Lily, he's fine," James said assuringly. Sirius hadn't heard a word she said. His eyes were still staring at this perfect creature in front of him.
Green eyes stared up at him, and he felt himself smile. The cherubic face of the little angel returned the smile as best he could, and then yawned. His chubby little fingers clawed at Sirius's robes, and finally balled his hand into a fist around the woven cloth. And then he closed his eyes, and began to sleep.
The hot body of the little boy was heavy in Sirius's arms, and Sirius looked down on the tiny hand that grasped his clothes, holding on for comfort. Such a strong fist.
"Don't worry," Sirius whispered, "It's fine. Nothing's gonna hurt you."
I won't let it, he thought, I'll never let anything hurt you. I promise.
"Harry," he said quietly to himself, gently rocking the baby in his arms, "Harry Potter."
"It's a beautiful name," Peter said, chopping through Sirius's train of thought. James nodded in agreement, and Lily looked to James. She made a motion to her baby, and then raised a brow.
James cleared his throat, and held out his hands for Harry, "Time to go back to Mummy, Harry."
Sirius reluctantly handed him over, and his father took him in his robes. Still the hand grasped his cloak for dear life, and finally let go. Harry's eyes shot open, and he whimpered.
Don't worry, Sirius thought, It's all right.
Harry blinked, and his small smile returned.
James, baby in arm, sat on the edge of his wife's bed, and Sirius could hear the faint voices of Remus and Peter congratulating the couple on a beautiful boy. But all Sirius could do was look into those green eyes.
Nothing's gonna hurt you, he repeated to himself silently. I won't let it.
Voldemort would be coming for the boy, they all knew that. They all knew that this child's life would be lived in the fear that all of them had experienced during their time in the war. Maybe worse fear than that. But Harry was not safe. Voldemort wanted him dead, and he would do anything to see his wishes carried out.
Sirius glared, and his face grew dark once again. He felt a responsibility like never before well up in his heart, and his jaw was set.
I'd like to see him try, he thought to himself.
None of the habitants of the hospital room could make out the lone two figures behind the glass of the door, but the unknown visitors could see all that happened from where they stood. If one was to look at them closer, they would have realized that they, themselves, were smiling and congratulating each other on a job well done. They had kept the child alive. They had kept the mother in safety for nine months, and now they had a long trek ahead of them.
Well, only one of them was smiling. His old and wrinkled face watched through the glass as his eye twinkled and his old worn mouth curled. The headmaster was growing old, and there was nothing to stop his age. It always helped to see new life.
"I always try to look back and recollect my own birth," Dumbledore informed his colleague, looking thoughtfully at the new baby, "Unfortunately, that was many years ago, and not a single memory exists past seventy years ago."
"They're in grave danger, Headmaster," the man said. His face could not be seen, due to a cloak that he had been forced to wear. If anyone saw him mingling with this kind . . . with Dumbledore . . . everything would be ruined.
"I am aware of that, my friend," Dumbledore said, and the darker man stood straighter. My friend. The old man had called him by that name. This was the man that he was to have killed. This was the man who had saved his life, and had asked for nothing in return.
Yet, there was that bond that bound them together, whether they wanted the bond or not. Dumbledore had saved his life, and he was in debt. There was nothing left to do but nod, and agree with him.
"They don't know, do they?" the colleague said, talking from underneath the hood. The pain in his arm was becoming stronger. It stung his skin like a serpent's fang. The Dark Lord was calling to his followers. They were planning something for that night. They were to rally the dementors together, and take siege of Azkaban. And yet, Dumbledore would not be there to stop them this time. He was too busy fawning over this little tripe that had come into the world so unexpectedly.
"No, they don't," the Headmaster sighed, and his eyes grew dim, "Let them have their night of happiness. They are parents, and they need to feel safe just once before they become enraveled in this mess," Dumbledore turned to the hooded man, and his eyes grew deadset on where his colleague's face was hidden, "You are my most trusted source in these times. Did Voldemort hear the entire prophecy?"
"No, sir," the colleague informed him, "He only knows as much as the world knows. Or as much as his spy heard . . . that spy is dead now."
The last words of the man were choked out, showing the only bit of fear that he had ever expressed. Dumbledore looked to his friend, and eyed him. His friend was a very brave man, and yet driven by a force darker than anything that he had ever seen. He did not belong on this side of the war.
"You give your life to us," Dumbledore said, turning from the window completely, and folding his arms, "And yet you do not believe in our cause. I knew you as a child, and I know of your beliefs and your talents and skills in the Dark Arts. Why do you risk so much?"
"Don't ask me, Headmaster," the hooded man growled, turning away and heading for the waiting room once again, "You know why."
"Ah," the wise man said, as his accomplice began to walk away, "But do you?"
The back silhouette of the hooded stranger froze, and sagged. There was another pause before the colleague lowered his head, and balled his fists.
"Potter's boy is alive and well, sir," he said, "For the time being. I can promise you I will do what I can to keep them all safe."
"I know you will, Severus," Dumbledore said.
Severus stiffened, and began to walk again with a quickened pace. And he disappeared around the corner, and out of the Headmaster's sight of vision.
The Dark Mark still burned on the man's forearm, reminding him of his fatal error.
To brand the Mark there in the first place.
(Note from the author: Here's chapter 100! I never thought I'd make it, but I have . . . and I have to thank everyone who's read this far, and who's sent great comments and feedback and hasn't totally abandoned the story after the prologue. Lol. It's the chapter you've all been waiting for . . . Enjoy . . .)
It was late that night as the Ministry car pulled up to the Potter's residence. The lights were on, and James sighed from his seat in the front next to Sirius.
"Well, here we go," he said, opening his door, and hoisting himself out of the car. It had been a good drive back, filled with song and butterbeers all around. He hadn't had so much fun since graduating. He was still laughing as he made his way up the steps, and Sirius shook his head from the driver's seat.
"He's in for it," he commented, and Peter and Remus solemnly nodded in agreement.
James, mussing his hair, opened the door, and sighed, "Here goes nothing," he muttered, and he stepped quietly into the front hall.
"Lily?" he asked quietly, but no answer came.
Maybe she was asleep.
Maybe she had gone looking for him.
Was she worried about him? Had she stayed up all night and day waiting for him to come home? What if she had gone to the Order, and they were all looking for him and the others?
What if something had happened to her?
He would never be able to forgive himself . . .
"Lily?" he said, a little more frantic, walking into the parlor.
"James?"
It was a gruff voice. Nothing like Lily's sweet, soft one. James turned to face the stranger who was exiting his kitchen. An intruder!
His robes flew open as he brandished his wand and pointed it at the figure in the doorway, "Who are you? What do you want? Where's Lily?"
"Put that thing away," the figure drew closer and into the light of the candles on the hearth. The jagged face of Frank Longbottom could be seen, and James glared.
"What do you want?" he spat.
Frank sighed, and shook his head, "You know, James, before Alice had her child, I was at her side every minute."
"Bully for you," James hissed, "Now where is Lily? What happened?"
"They took her to St. Mungo's a few hours ago," Frank said, "But I guess that you were too busy joyriding with your chums, as usual, to know that, now weren't you."
"Why did they take her there?" James asked, feeling his heart drop to his stomach, "What happened? What's wrong?"
Frank's jagged and handsome face curved into a smile, and he said, "Congratulations. You're going to be a father."
"So how did your meeting with James go?" Sirius asked, thumping his fingers against the wheel of the car. They were waiting to make sure all was well before leaving their boy alone with Morgana.
Remus looked at Sirius through the review-mirror, and shrugged, "It could have gone better."
"You two still at ends, then?" Peter asked.
Sirius groaned, and covered his eyes with his hands. Remus's face grew calm and cool as he tried not to show his emotions to the other two. They could read him like a book. He looked away from Sirius and to the house. The front door was still open, and it had been a while since James had disappeared from sight. Something was wrong. He could feel it.
"You know what?" Peter said, "I think that James is one lucky man."
Remus looked from Sirius, and then to Peter, "How so?"
"Well," Peter said, shifting in his seat, "He has a wife that was worried about him, friends that love him enough to take him out for his birthday, and . . . well, he is in favor of the Ministry, that's for sure. James has always had it lucky, don't you think?"
"Something's wrong," Sirius muttered, "He hasn't shut the door. He always shuts the door."
"What?" Remus asked.
"The lights upstairs aren't on. The lights in the parlor aren't on," Sirius said, "And he still hasn't shut the front door. Something's going on."
"You don't think that Lily's just a little peeved?" Remus said, "Let's not jump to a conclusion . . ."
Sirius opened his driver's door and jumped out of the car without another word. Remus sighed and shook his head.
"Never mind," he said.
The hot smells of summer drifted into the car as the two remaining passengers waited for the two of them to return. Peter tapped his foot on the floor, and Remus ran his fingers through his strangled hair. There was a pause before Peter said, "Well, you think we should follow him then?"
"Probably. Knowing Sirius he'll blast the house to Scotland," Remus said, and the two boys opened both their doors to accompany the sprinting figure across the street.
The three of them entered the house in silence, and the street outside was mute as a light was illuminated from inside. A car passed, and a cat made its way down the suburban path paved out for a sidewalk. The sound of a fire engine could be heard off in the distance, and all was quiet from inside.
Until the guttural howl of Sirius Black echoed out of the still-open door, down the street, and through the town of England.
"Where is she?" James demanded, as they sped into the lobby of St. Mungo's. He was frantic, and the five men ran to the front desk. James slammed his fist on the counter top of the receptionist's desk and shouted again, "Where's my wife?"
"And what would your wife's name be?" the nurse asked in a calm manner.
"Lily Evans . . . I mean, Lily Potter. Her name's Lily Potter. I'm her husband," James said in a frantic tone, "Where is she? I want to see her?"
"She is in the maternity ward, Mr. Potter," the nurse said, even calmer, "Follow the signs, please."
"Come on," Frank said, taking James by the sleeve and tugging him away from the desk and to the bright lifts that stood on another wall, "They took Alice there yesterday. I know the way well enough."
They crowded into the lift, and James gave Frank a look, " It's a boy?"
Frank, his jagged face not changing but a small smile curling onto his face and breaking the handsome rockiness of his figure, said, "Yes, it's a boy. His name's Neville."
"Congrats," James said, fidgetting with his cloak. What if something went wrong? What if Lily was hurting and he wasn't there? God, he had been out goofing off at a Quidditch game when he should have been here. He should have driven Lily to the hospital! He should have . . .
"Who brought her here?" James asked as the lift whizzed higher, and Frank coughed, "I did."
"Well, thank you," he said. Remus, Peter and Sirius all looked at one another, and then shrugged.
The lift opened, and James rushed through the hallways, Frank at his heels. The other three tried to keep up, but they were no competition for the Quidditch player and the top Auror of Dumbledore's. They watched as James and Frank spun around a corner, and then slammed the doors open to an entrance reading "POTTER."
"Lily!" James shouted, looking around the room.
And he saw her.
She was as beautiful as ever.
It had been three hours. The clock ticked away in the waiting room outside the room. Frank had left a long time ago to go check up on his own bundle of joy down the corridor. Only the three Marauders remained, trying not to go crazy in their waiting.
Weren't they a scene now? All three of Dumbledore's soldiers, sitting around and trying to make themselves comfortable on the wooden chairs supplied by them by St. Mungo's. Sirius was humming a song to himself. Remus couldn't make out the lyrics very well, due to the drawling tone in his friend's voice. He knew it was something in French.
"What is that song?" Remus asked quietly, and Sirius snapped to attention.
"What? You forgot?" Sirius said, spinning around in his seat to look at him, "It's your music box song."
"That's what I thought," Remus said, "I just didn't think you'd remember it."
"You played it enough in the dormitory at nights," Sirius said, "Over and over again."
Remus's smile diminished, and his poker face returned. He looked away from Sirius, and Sirius sighed. He rolled his eyes, and groaned, "Come on, now, Remus. It wasn't like we were really asleep. I never slept at school."
"I wouldn't have played it if I knew that you were listening," Remus said softly.
"I kinda liked the tune," Peter said, looking up from a magazine, "It was catchy."
"Shut up," Sirius snorted, and then turned back to Remus, "Why?"
"If it bothered you . . ."
"Whoever said it bothered me?"
Remus shrugged, "Well, I just didn't think you'd remember it."
Sirius nodded, somewhat confused, and sighed again. There was another eerie silence that swept the room as the three boys grew quiet once again. Remus had had a dream the night before, while he dozed off waiting for Sirius to come fetch him for the great escape. He had been sitting in his chair, and hadn't intended on falling asleep. But he had, and the dreams had come again. Yet this one was without the wolf, and it was without mysterious teachers behind old wooden desks.
This one was of a boy. From what it looked like, the boy had been having a party. He was the spitting image of James when he was eleven, hazel eyes and all. He was happy, and healthy, and was blowing out his candles to his birthday cake. Ten golden candles stood like turrets across the icing, illuminating the chocolate frosting that spelled out the words "HAPPY BIRTHDAY, HARRY." Sirius was there. He was hoisting the boy into the air, laughing and threatening to throw him into the tree branches above. Peter was looking at the cake, wanting to not delay the food any longer.
James had his camera out, and he was hugging Lily.
And Remus . . . Remus was sitting on the back steps of the Potter's house, holding his present to this big boy that they had all helped raise. And the boy, after Sirius had put him down and he had eaten his first bite of cake, ran to him and hugged him.
"Happy birthday, Harry," Remus said, smiling, and returning the hug. The embrace wasn't filled with fear or pity. It was a genuine hug.
This boy didn't care if he was a werewolf or not.
But that boy was only a dream, he told himself, And dreams aren't real.
"Have either one of you talked to James about the . . ." Peter cleared his throat, "Well, about his son's . . ."
"No," Sirius said, "You don't bring the prophecy up with James. Ever."
Peter nodded, and opened his mouth, as if he was going to add something to the conversation. He closed it again, and then opened it once more for good measure, "Do you believe in the prophecy?"
Remus, all of a sudden, looked very tired, and rubbed his eyes, "How can't you?"
God, Sirius couldn't do this any longer! He wanted to just barge in there and give Lily a good talking to about timing. He wasn't baptised yet. They weren't ready. They had put it off.
Why had they?
Because they didn't want it to come in July, Sirius thought to himself, They wanted it to come later. Just to spite the prophecy. Then it'd be Longbottom's kid. And the world would leave Harry alone.
Harry. That was his name.
James said he looked just like him. He wondered if this was true.
How would Harry take to him? Would they be like brothers, always there for each other, or more like father and son if James couldn't be there. But of course, James would always be there. He would love Harry with every bit of his heart. And so would Lily.
No, he would be Uncle Sirius. The man who Harry would run to if his parents fought, or if James didn't agree with him, or if Lily's eye twitched. Uncle Sirius would spoil him to death, and never let anything bad touch him. He wouldn't ever punish him. He wouldn't tell him what to do.
The boy would be smart enough to do that for himself. Uncle Sirius would give him what he wanted, and more. But never less. He would always be there.
He would protect him.
No matter what.
DONG. DONG. DONG.
Sirius blinked, and looked at the clock. It was striking midnight. Three strikes.
"IT'S HERE!" Lily's screaming voice vibrated through the door and into the waiting room, "IT'S HERE!"
DONG.
He could hear the screaming of the baby now, and Lily's crying.
DONG. DONG.
"It's a boy!"
DONG. DONG.
Another scream.
DONG. DONG.
Remus stood as the door flew open.
DONG. DONG.
James stood, beaming in the entrance of the hospital room, beaming as brightly as ever. Even brighter. He looked happier than at his wedding reception, or even when he was playing Quidditch. A radiant of light illuminated the room as he looked to Sirius, tears welling up in his eyes.
"He's here."
In a scooting of chairs and a sound of tennis shoes on the squeaking linoleum floor, the three boys charged forward to James, and followed him excitedly into the room. And that's when the world changed for Sirius.
There lay Lily, red hair in every direction and her brow furrowed with sweat, sitting in a white smock in her bed, looking as beautiful as ever. But that didn't matter to Sirius. That isn't what he thought was beautiful.
In her arms lay the bundle that had become such an importance to all of their lives. A child that would possibly change the world. He was so delicate, and so . . . so small. He looked as if he were made of porcelain and the slightest change of wind could knock him over and break him.
He was beautiful.
Little tufts of black hair could be seen on his head, and his skin was pink and healthy. He whined, trying to blink his eyes for the first time. He had never seen sunlight before, and all of these new faces and things must be scaring him to death. His tiny hands clasped Lily's smock, and one single tear ran down his little cheek.
Sirius couldn't take his eyes off of that sight. This was his godson. This was Harry. This was James's child.
"Sirius, do you know what a godfather is?"
He could hear the voice of James in his head, from that day so long ago in Frank's office. Was it only a few months ago? It seemed like an eternity away.
"We were sort of hoping that you would be my child's godfather."
"Harry," Lily whispered, lowering her head to whisper in her son's ear, even if he couldn't understand her, "I'd like you to meet your uncles."
Remus and Peter beamed proudly at the tiny thing that she held. Remus's worries drifted away, and a bright smile overtook his poker face. Peter had another sort of expression on his face. One of pure joy, and yet one that seemed like . . . fear.
But Sirius. Oh, Sirius didn't move. His eyes couldn't stop looking at Harry. He was perfect. He was perfect in every way.
"That's Remus," Lily said in a cracked voice that was strained by the long hours of labor, "And that's Peter. And this, Harry," she looked at Sirius and her face lit up with trust, "This is your godfather, Harry. Sirius Black."
Sirius heard his name, and blinked again. No laughs were threatening to escape from his mouth. No tears were gleaming down his face. No smile was seen. Only the innocent expression of a man looking upon something greater than himself. The expression of a man seeing responsibility for the first time.
James took Harry from Lily, and more tears came. James didn't care anymore about what anyone thought.
This was his son. This was the child that he would carry through life. They were together, bonded forever. This was Harry.
"Hello, Harry," he whispered, rocking the tiny bundle in his arms, "I'm your daddy."
He was a daddy.
Sirius watched as he saw father and son embrace, and the gentle way that James held his baby. He had never seen his friend, in all of the years that they had known each other, be so careful and so cautious about anything. The little life was fragile, and the slightest movement could end it.
How could something so small and delicate be the great power that would save England? That would save the world? Grown men had died for the war, and this little boy was supposed to survive?
He was supposed to finish Voldemort off. Or the other way around. They had all heard the prophecy hundreds of times.
"Here, do you want to hold him?" James asked Sirius who was now standing closest to him. Sirius nodded, and took the small warm body from James's arms.
"Support the head," Lily interjected, "And don't touch the top of his scalp."
"Lily, he's fine," James said assuringly. Sirius hadn't heard a word she said. His eyes were still staring at this perfect creature in front of him.
Green eyes stared up at him, and he felt himself smile. The cherubic face of the little angel returned the smile as best he could, and then yawned. His chubby little fingers clawed at Sirius's robes, and finally balled his hand into a fist around the woven cloth. And then he closed his eyes, and began to sleep.
The hot body of the little boy was heavy in Sirius's arms, and Sirius looked down on the tiny hand that grasped his clothes, holding on for comfort. Such a strong fist.
"Don't worry," Sirius whispered, "It's fine. Nothing's gonna hurt you."
I won't let it, he thought, I'll never let anything hurt you. I promise.
"Harry," he said quietly to himself, gently rocking the baby in his arms, "Harry Potter."
"It's a beautiful name," Peter said, chopping through Sirius's train of thought. James nodded in agreement, and Lily looked to James. She made a motion to her baby, and then raised a brow.
James cleared his throat, and held out his hands for Harry, "Time to go back to Mummy, Harry."
Sirius reluctantly handed him over, and his father took him in his robes. Still the hand grasped his cloak for dear life, and finally let go. Harry's eyes shot open, and he whimpered.
Don't worry, Sirius thought, It's all right.
Harry blinked, and his small smile returned.
James, baby in arm, sat on the edge of his wife's bed, and Sirius could hear the faint voices of Remus and Peter congratulating the couple on a beautiful boy. But all Sirius could do was look into those green eyes.
Nothing's gonna hurt you, he repeated to himself silently. I won't let it.
Voldemort would be coming for the boy, they all knew that. They all knew that this child's life would be lived in the fear that all of them had experienced during their time in the war. Maybe worse fear than that. But Harry was not safe. Voldemort wanted him dead, and he would do anything to see his wishes carried out.
Sirius glared, and his face grew dark once again. He felt a responsibility like never before well up in his heart, and his jaw was set.
I'd like to see him try, he thought to himself.
None of the habitants of the hospital room could make out the lone two figures behind the glass of the door, but the unknown visitors could see all that happened from where they stood. If one was to look at them closer, they would have realized that they, themselves, were smiling and congratulating each other on a job well done. They had kept the child alive. They had kept the mother in safety for nine months, and now they had a long trek ahead of them.
Well, only one of them was smiling. His old and wrinkled face watched through the glass as his eye twinkled and his old worn mouth curled. The headmaster was growing old, and there was nothing to stop his age. It always helped to see new life.
"I always try to look back and recollect my own birth," Dumbledore informed his colleague, looking thoughtfully at the new baby, "Unfortunately, that was many years ago, and not a single memory exists past seventy years ago."
"They're in grave danger, Headmaster," the man said. His face could not be seen, due to a cloak that he had been forced to wear. If anyone saw him mingling with this kind . . . with Dumbledore . . . everything would be ruined.
"I am aware of that, my friend," Dumbledore said, and the darker man stood straighter. My friend. The old man had called him by that name. This was the man that he was to have killed. This was the man who had saved his life, and had asked for nothing in return.
Yet, there was that bond that bound them together, whether they wanted the bond or not. Dumbledore had saved his life, and he was in debt. There was nothing left to do but nod, and agree with him.
"They don't know, do they?" the colleague said, talking from underneath the hood. The pain in his arm was becoming stronger. It stung his skin like a serpent's fang. The Dark Lord was calling to his followers. They were planning something for that night. They were to rally the dementors together, and take siege of Azkaban. And yet, Dumbledore would not be there to stop them this time. He was too busy fawning over this little tripe that had come into the world so unexpectedly.
"No, they don't," the Headmaster sighed, and his eyes grew dim, "Let them have their night of happiness. They are parents, and they need to feel safe just once before they become enraveled in this mess," Dumbledore turned to the hooded man, and his eyes grew deadset on where his colleague's face was hidden, "You are my most trusted source in these times. Did Voldemort hear the entire prophecy?"
"No, sir," the colleague informed him, "He only knows as much as the world knows. Or as much as his spy heard . . . that spy is dead now."
The last words of the man were choked out, showing the only bit of fear that he had ever expressed. Dumbledore looked to his friend, and eyed him. His friend was a very brave man, and yet driven by a force darker than anything that he had ever seen. He did not belong on this side of the war.
"You give your life to us," Dumbledore said, turning from the window completely, and folding his arms, "And yet you do not believe in our cause. I knew you as a child, and I know of your beliefs and your talents and skills in the Dark Arts. Why do you risk so much?"
"Don't ask me, Headmaster," the hooded man growled, turning away and heading for the waiting room once again, "You know why."
"Ah," the wise man said, as his accomplice began to walk away, "But do you?"
The back silhouette of the hooded stranger froze, and sagged. There was another pause before the colleague lowered his head, and balled his fists.
"Potter's boy is alive and well, sir," he said, "For the time being. I can promise you I will do what I can to keep them all safe."
"I know you will, Severus," Dumbledore said.
Severus stiffened, and began to walk again with a quickened pace. And he disappeared around the corner, and out of the Headmaster's sight of vision.
The Dark Mark still burned on the man's forearm, reminding him of his fatal error.
To brand the Mark there in the first place.